


taking care

by preromantics



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-12
Updated: 2010-04-12
Packaged: 2017-10-08 21:50:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson takes care of Holmes. <i>"Yes," Watson agrees, guiding Holmes correctly into the room with a light hand on his back, "I can see how perfectly fine you are at this very moment."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	taking care

Holmes shakes Watson's hand off his shoulder nearly as soon as Watson places it there, and a few seconds later promptly walks into the wall about a foot from the door.

Watson steps back from him with a sigh, taking a minute to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Not to worry," Holmes says, straightening his overcoat, (brow, Watson notices, furrowed in a wince of pain), "I'm fine."

"Yes," Watson agrees, guiding Holmes correctly into the room with a light hand on his back, "I can see how perfectly fine you are at this very moment."

Holmes collapses rather gracelessly onto the nearest low couch and slings an arm over his face. "There is no need for sarcasm, now," he says, a late response, and Watson is already gathering cloth and water.

"You could at least humor me with some sort of wit-laced retort," Holmes comments, after a minute of silence, his arm still over his eyes.

Watson makes his way over to the couch, eyes rolling up to the ceiling in a quiet bit of exasperation and he kneels by Holmes' head. "Maybe if you weren't in such a sorry state I'd be more inclined to engage in a battle of wits, but as it is you are about to bleed all over the furniture, so."

Holmes laughs low, coughs a little blood down his chin and swings his arm off his head, blinking a little peevishly up at Watson. "You always care after my health too much," he says, nostrils flaring out when Watson wipes at the split in his lip.

Frowning, Watson dabs the wet blood with the cloth and then wipes at the drier blood underneath, taking care to be soft. He knows Holmes didn't mean anything but friendly mockery -- the fact Watson cares for Holmes health too much. He's a doctor, after all, and Holmes is his friend in all the strange ways he can be, and it's perfectly fine for Watson to be concerned with his health and well-being and sleeping patterns.

"Gentle," Holmes grouses, twisting his face and breathing in sharply -- too sharply for Watson's liking. Watson automatically moves to press light fingers along the ridges of Holmes' ribs (his shirt is already torn, the edges of the material soft where the threads are out in no sense of order) and is pleased when Holmes just twists at the contact without any sign of pain.

When Watson gets back to Holmes' face he tilts it with a hand on Holmes' chin, soaking a new bit of cloth to wipe down the line of his jaw.

"I'm perfectly capable of doing this myself, you know," Holmes says. He's looking straight at Watson's face like Watson is one of the puzzles Holmes is so fond of.

Watson pauses for a second, takes a last wipe at Holmes' face (a tiny bit harder than the last) and sits back on his heels. "Well, no matter, I'm done now and I'll remember that for next time." He means to say it and then laugh, but forgets the laughing part, and Holmes frowns up at him.

"Oh, don't be like that. I'll have you know it's dreadfully boring to patch myself up without you around, Watson," Holmes says. He closes his eyes with the words and Watson studies his face, watches the bit of fresh blood welling up in the dip of his bottom lip.

He dips the cloth in his hand in water again and turns Holmes' face with two fingers on his jaw to lightly dab there. Holmes' eyelids flutter with the pressure and Watson closes his own, tight for just a second and then opens them to take the cloth away. The red stain is seeping along the fold of the cloth and turns from crimson red to a blush color that matches the flush of Holmes' lips.

Watson frowns at his own flashing thoughts before dropping the cloth on the floor, studying the lines of Holmes' face, the way his own fingers look pressed (still) against Holmes' jaw. He closes his own eyes when he dips down, leaning up on his heels to press his lips against Holmes', dry and soft, thumb edging down Holmes' jaw, rubbing in a soft circle.

"I'll try and be around more often to patch you up then," Watson says when he leans back, "purely for the sake of sparing you from boredom, of course."

Holmes doesn't say anything, merely lays on the couch, eyes darting a bit beneath his eyelids. Watson stands to put away the cloth and water, darting his tongue out to taste his bottom lip, metallic. "Try not to use your mouth too much in order for the split to heal," he says as an afterthought.

Holmes laughs from the couch, "Any excuse to make sure I can't talk for extended periods of time," he says, "I'm on to you, Watson."

Watson sighs, although it probably comes out more fond than he means to. "It's only my medical duty to inform you of what will help your healing process."

"You're doing quite the opposite," Holmes says, shifting on the couch, "in fact, I've been lying here tempted to cross the room and use my lips for a purpose no doctor would approve of in my current state, and it's all your fault."

Watson smiles to himself with his back turned, small. "Too bad there is a doctor in the room, then. Whatever nefarious purposes you and your lips have in mind will just have to wait."

Holmes throws a pillow at him and lays back on the couch, mumbling something. Watson picks up the nearest of Holmes' notebooks next to him and settles in a chair, the corner of his mouth still upturned and lips still metallic tasting and warm.


End file.
